#AmericanWriters
Going to him! Happy letter! Tell… Tell him the page I didn’t write; Tell him I only said the syntax, And left the verb and the pronoun… Tell him just how the fingers hurr…
71 A throe upon the features— A hurry in the breath— An ecstasy of parting Denominated “Death”—
Years I had been from home, And now, before the door I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before Stare vacant into mine
An Antiquated Tree Is cherished of the Crow Because that Junior Foliage is di… To venerable Birds Whose Corporation Coat
789 On a Columnar Self— How ample to rely In Tumult—or Extremity— How good the Certainty
519 ’Twas warm—at first—like Us— Until there crept upon A Chill—like frost upon a Glass— Till all the scene—be gone.
CXXVIII I heard a fly buzz when I died; The stillness round my form Was like the stillness in the air Between the heaves of storm.
470 I am alive—I guess— The Branches on my Hand Are full of Morning Glory— And at my finger’s end—
679 Conscious am I in my Chamber, Of a shapeless friend— He doth not attest by Posture— Nor Confirm—by Word—
March is the Month of Expectation… The things we do not know - The Persons of prognostication Are coming now - We try to show becoming firmness -
343 My Reward for Being, was This. My premium—My Bliss— An Admiralty, less— A Sceptre—penniless—
A Route of Evanescence With a revolving Wheel— A Resonance of Emerald— A Rush of Cochineal— And every Blossom on the Bush
828 The Robin is the One That interrupt the Morn With hurried—few—express Reports When March is scarcely on—
809 Unable are the Loved to die For Love is Immortality, Nay, it is Deity— Unable they that love—to die
175 I have never seen “Volcanoes”— But, when Travellers tell How those old—phlegmatic mountains Usually so still—